The Writer's Dilemma
by Edward Carson
Summary: Season Six in 23 scenes with Prologue and Epilogue. A satirical rendering of the final season, it is not quite what we hope for or expect for our favourites. Apologies to Julian Fellowes for dragging him into this. Disclaimer: Characters, concept, and setting belong indisputably to Mr. Fellowes. They are only borrowed here in good faith and good humour. NO SPOILERS FOR SEASON 6.
1. Chapter 1: Prologue

1 _ **Prologue**_

It was a charming room. He always wrote his best stuff here in this comfortable place, furnished with fine sturdy old pieces that had lasted the years not only because of the innate quality of their components but also because of the exquisite care lavished upon them by the staff. His favourite prospect was right here, from his desk, facing the broad picture window that opened out onto the pond and beyond it the paddocks where his three fine horses grazed. It was pastoral, panoramic, soothing to the mind and the heart. It cultivated in him a sense of ease with the world that stood in contrast to the whirlwind of ideas that perpetually inhabited his brain and which it was his job to put down on paper in a dramatic fashion that would captivate the millions who awaited the next installment of his dearest creation with ill-concealed anticipation.

The computer before him was the latest model PC and the keyboard one that had been ergonomically designed for him. He might appreciate a traditional country atmosphere that harkened back to those glorious days of the not so long ago past when grace and politeness prevailed and the pace of life was slow, but in reality he was a businessman as much as an artist. The fact that he claimed both titles was indicative of a present that could not be denied. And that meant he had to get this show on the road with the greatest possible alacrity. Only the best in technology for him, in other words.

He put his fingers to the keyboard and quickly typed four words:

 **Downton Abbey**

 **Season Six**

And then he leaned back into the pliable yet still firm black leather chair and quietly contemplated what he had written. For five years he had loved this fantasy world he had created out of the strands of history and culture gleaned from family reminiscences and the history lessons of his public school days. He had cherished each of the characters he had so carefully drawn to life, agonized with them in their sorrows, cheered them in their victories small and great, and come gradually to the conclusion that like the reality his world so deliberately ignored, it would all have to come to an end sometime. That was his purpose now.

He well knew what he had to do. There were romances to kindle, careers to establish, an education to complete, one wedding that had to happen and at least two or three others to set up, a controversial love interest to develop, an estate to secure, a murder to solve, a baby or two to birth, a puppy to train, and so it went. It was all there in his head, had been for some time. And that was, if he was honest with himself, the problem. It was all so predictable, if only because "the public" demanded that it be so. He was grateful to the public, truly he was. They had welcomed his creation, his artistic baby if you will, with an enthusiasm seldom matched in the ignorant and fickle world of television. They had sobbed and cheered right along with him, sometimes even in the right places. If it could not be said that everyone loved _all_ of his carefully crafted characters, it was still an accurate observation that someone had loved _each_ of them, and that was saying something. And that same public had deluged him with requests, demands, threats (from some of his American viewers, perhaps it was only to be expected from that quarter) regarding the future of this or that beloved favourite. For the most part he had resisted these clamourings and if some of his directions sometimes turned out to meet the expectations of one or another widely supported plotline, he had assured the world and himself that it was only reasonable that _someone_ of the millions out there who gave more thought to the fate of these fictional aristocrats and their servants than to planning for their own financial future should have come to similar ideas about the next development in a particular character's life.

That said, the frenzy was beginning to get a little tiresome, which was just one of the several reasons why he had decided to pull the plug and end it all with this sixth season. The playful pleadings and hopeful requests focused on the different characters were growing more strident, becoming more insistent, taking the form of demands, as if the creative ownership of this imaginary community had somehow become a public share company. The pressure to conform, to renounce a commitment to dramatic necessity and succumb to the public compulsion for happily ever after, was ever more irksome, irritating. He longed to cast them all off, fling their cherished hopes to the four winds, and free himself to write a wholly original conclusion that reflected his total ownership of these characters and to reassert the reality that they all owed their being entirely to him.

But it would kill the ratings.

And that, after all, is what television was really all about. At least, across the Pond it was, and let's face it, selling it all in America was what paid the bills. The cultural agenda of Britain was heavily underwritten by the American billions. As his eyes fixed on his title, he shook his head. Not much had changed, really. With a heavy sigh, his hands descended on the keys again and he typed a few more words.

 **Episode One.**

 **Act 1.**

 **1\. EXT. DOWNTON ABBEY. DAY.**

 _As the sun shines down on the Abbey at midday, the Reverend Mr. Travis makes his way up the crushed gravel driveway toward the..._

And then he stopped. It was almost as if his hands refused to type another word. Was he really going to give in? consign his loving creation, the best dramatic piece he had written in his entire life, to the dustbin of predictable melodrama _just_ to satisfy legions of ignorant viewers who wouldn't know a teaspoon from a bouillon spoon? Where was his professional pride? Where was his inner artist? Where, for God's sake, was his originality?

He sank back into the chair once more. This required some consideration. Think about the ratings. Would they indeed go south if the world of _Downton Abbey_ did not unfold as the unlettered millions thought it should? It was a question worth asking.

And the answer came to him with alarming clarity and certainty. Of course they wouldn't. The fact was that the viewing public had become addicted to the show and there was no stemming an addiction (an assertion his own intellectually sound M.P. and other members of the Conservative Party had been observing for years about those persistent and painfully misguided efforts of the neanderthals on the Labour benches to rehabilitate those lost in the drug wars). They would watch regardless of what actually happened on the show. In fact, so long as the setting and the costumes and the manners continued to give them the _facade_ of the period, did it really matter _what_ the characters did? Well, perhaps some shocks would upset the public. They had been rather more jarred than he'd expected by that violent incident in the fourth season, which surprised him, given, especially, the knife crimes that went on in every community in the U.K., not to mention the bottomless American appetite for such things in worlds both real and imagined. But now that he thought about it, he was sure they would keep watching, if only in hope. (And, he told himself smugly, we all know what a tease hope is. He laughed. There was nothing more satisfying than a self-referential quotation.) Britons would stay 'til the last frame, clinging desperately to the delusion that this marriage or that love story or the other murder plot would be resolved in the expected manner.

And as for the audience across the Pond. Well, they were so frustrated with the fact that they got to see it only after it had all aired in the homeland, that they'd still pour money into their public broadcasting station, still place their DVD orders well in advance, and _still_ indulge in those rather disconcerting _binge_ parties where they consumed the entire series in one sitting. However disappointed they might be, it wouldn't keep them from watching it at all.

A sudden sense of liberation came over him and he sat up straight in his chair, staring for a moment at the energizing pastoral landscape before him. A last qualm of doubt assailed him. What of the marriage, the romances, the baby, the dog? What of the million hearts yearning for a satisfying closure to this most satisfying manifestation of television entertainment? What about the happy ending?

"Oh, bugger it," he declared loudly. "I'll do it."

And his fingers descended on the keyboard once more and a torrent of words poured forth beneath them.


	2. Chapter 2: Violet and Rosamund

1 _It is nine months on from the Christmas Special, which was set at Christmas 1924. The story opens in mid-September 1925._

 **VIOLET AND ROSAMUND**

 **1\. EXT.** _ **Day, in the graveyard.**_

 _Violet and Rosamund are standing by a great stone monument inscribed with the words Robert Crawley, 5_ _th_ _Earl of Grantham..._

VIOLET: My dear boy! However will I get on without him! He was the dearest person in my life!

ROSAMUND: And what am I, Mama? Chopped liver?

VIOLET: Chopped liver?! My dear Rosamund, must you demonstrate your complete incapacity for turning a colourful phrase _every_ time you speak?!

ROSAMUND: It is just a little tiring, Mama, to know that I mean so little to you.

VIOLET: Well, it can hardly be a surprise. No one wants a daughter, my dear. What on earth good are they? They can't inherit anything and inheritance, after all, is the bedrock of our society.

Besides, women are so wholly unreliable. Look at Cora.

ROSAMUND: Crushed by the grief of losing her beloved husband at an early age, she is seeking solace in the familiar and, I might add, much more welcoming arms of her mother across the sea. Unlike you, I can wholly appreciate Cora's situation. Losing an adored husband is a great blow indeed.

VIOLET: Please, don't compare my golden boy to that upstart grandson of a manufacturer that you married. One can not speak of them in the same breath.

ROSAMUND: Well, maybe _you_ can't. I only wish that, like Cora, I had a loving mother to turn to instead of the harridan with whom I am saddled.

VIOLET: There is nothing that says you need to spend time with your mother, dear.

ROSAMUND: Isn't there? Then I'll be off.


	3. Chapter 3: Isobel and Dr Clarkson

1 **ISOBEL AND DR CLARKSON**

 **2\. EXT.** _ **On a lane in the village.**_

ISOBEL: So it wasn't an ulcer after all.

CLARKSON: No, angina. He should have taken measures.

ISOBEL: But he was seeing a specialist in York.

CLARKSON: Hmm, so I heard.

ISOBEL: Didn't you know? Wasn't it you who recommended the man?

CLARKSON: No. I didn't even know Lord Grantham was troubled with any pain. He never spoke about it to me.

ISOBEL: That's rather peculiar, isn't it?

CLARKSON: Is it? Given his history? I've had the impression His Lordship lost confidence in me years ago. I've not seen him for anything more than a flesh wound in a very long time.

ISOBEL: How silly of him. Do you know who it was he was seeing in York?

CLARKSON: Yes. A Dr. Jonathan Tapsill. A specialist in digestive ailments.

ISOBEL: Tapsill? But...wasn't that the name of the doctor who misdiagnosed Sybil?

CLARKSON: Yes. Well, no. That was Sir Philip Tapsill. Jonathan Tapsill is his younger brother.

ISOBEL: And Lord Grantham didn't have any qualms about approaching another member of the Tapsill family?

CLARKSON: As I said, he never mentioned any of it to me at all, so I wouldn't know his views on that.

ISOBEL: I don't remember his mentioning the name of the specialist in York at the Abbey either. I can't believe Cora would have allowed another member of her family to be treated by a Tapsill, whether or not it was a different one, and certainly not if he was related to the other.

CLARKSON: Not that merely being related to someone ensures a similar degree of medical incompetence.

ISOBEL: No, no, of course not. But still. Whatever could have possessed Robert?

CLARKSON: I'm not sure but that Lord Grantham is ... was ... more impressed by family background, blood, if you like, than by actual ability.

ISOBEL: What a foolish man. Well, he paid the price for that attitude, didn't he?

CLARKSON: Yes. Twice.


	4. Chapter 4: Molesley and Baxter

**MOLESLEY AND BAXTER**

 **3.** __ **INT.** _ **In a corridor outside the kitchen.**_

 _Molesley and Miss Baxter are standing together._

MOLESLEY: It's been a sad business, this.

BAXTER: Sad, indeed. His Lordship was a kind man.

MOLESLEY: Still, the world goes on and we must go on with it. It's not as if there's nothing to look forward to.

BAXTER: What do you mean, Mr. Molesley?

MOLESLEY: Only that there are some cheering prospects on the horizon, too. Things are changing, Miss Baxter. Changing for the better.

BAXTER: How do you mean?

MOLESLEY: Well, look at Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes. Ten years ago when Mr. Bates and Anna raised the question of marriage, it was a revolutionary idea. Downstairs staff simply did not marry, not unless they wanted to leave service. They certainly didn't marry each other. Such a thing was too fraught with complications, given the possibilities for marital discord and distraction from duty. And yet they've made it work.

BAXTER: Through thick and thin.

MOLESLEY: Through a great deal of thin. But, then, such is the reality of great love. They've been a model, Mr. Bates and Anna, a model that bears emulation.

BAXTER: Indeed it does.

MOLESLEY: And now there's Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes. Their marriage will be an even more dramatic break with tradition. The butler and the housekeeper, the two staff members whose calling to serve the family exclusively is so much greater than any of the rest of us. And yet soon, wedding bells will be ringing for them.

BAXTER: They are so well suited. It must be the happiest of marriages when it finally occurs.

MOLESLEY: They're a true inspiration, Miss Baxter.

BAXTER: I agree, Mr. Molesley.

MOLESLEY: Gives hope to us all.

BAXTER: I should think so, Mr. Molesley.


	5. Chapter 5: Mary and Edith and Marigold

1 **MARY AND EDITH AND MARIGOLD**

 **4\. INT.** _ **The library.**_

 _Mary is rifling through the desk. Edith is sitting on the sofa, bouncing little Marigold on her knee._

MARY: Edith. Perhaps you can help me. I'm looking for Grandmama's address in New York.

EDITH: Just give your letter to one of the servants. They'll figure it out.

MARY: Really, Edith. I thought you were supposed to be a "New Woman," doing things for yourself. Besides, it's not for me. I want to send it to someone. That ghastly art dealer who took so much interest in the della Francesca sent a note of condolence and asked for Mama's address.

EDITH: Mary, there's something I want to tell you.

MARY: Is it possible for you to detach yourself from that child for ten seconds to do so? Really, Edith, it's unhealthy for a child to have so much attention.

EDITH: It's Marigold I want to talk to you about. I think it's time.

MARY: Time? What do you mean?

EDITH: Well, now that Papa is gone and Mama is gone and Tom is gone...

MARY: Dear me, don't we sound bereft.

EDITH: Perhaps you should know the truth. I believe we should take Papa's death as the opportunity for a new beginning.

MARY: This sounds intriguing. How does this concern Marigold?

EDITH: She's my daughter, Mary. My daughter with Michael Gregson.

MARY: Oh, _that's_ why she never smiles. She's _yours_! Well! I can't believe it. I'm speechless.

EDITH. Apparently not quite.

MARY: Does everyone else know?

EDITH: Yes. Papa, Mama, Tom, Granny. All the important people anyway. What do you have to say?

MARY: Well! Edith! How wonderful for you! This is such delightful news! You're a mother! George will have a cousin to take Sybbie's place! Oh, we have so much in common now, Edith. It's like we've entered a whole new world of sisterly warmth and affection! Oh! Let me kiss you!

 _She crosses the room and kisses Edith's cheek_.

EDITH: Oh, Mary! ( _tearing up_.) Are we really and truly to be loving sisters now?

MARY: You've got to be kidding. Seriously, Edith. A dead paramour? An illegitimate child? And you, as clueless as always. Did you not have the foggiest idea of how to protect yourself? Why do you always do things badly?

EDITH: I might have known you'd be your usual vicious self. I warn you, Mary. This is the last time you'll trample on my feelings.

 _Mary utters a dismissive sound, waves Edith away, and walks off._


	6. Chapter 6: Carson and Mrs Hughes

1 **CARSON AND MRS HUGHES**

 **5\. INT.** _ **Mrs. Hughes' sitting room.**_

 _Carson and Mrs. Hughes are sitting on either side of her small table and sharing a half bottle of wine_.

CARSON: I still can't believe it.

MRS HUGHES: It's been more than six months, Mr. Carson. I've known you to reject reality, but never to deny it. I suggest you start coping with it.

CARSON: Yes, you're right. Still. He was ten years younger than me.

MRS HUGHES: There is nothing rational or logical about death. It just happens, Mr. Carson.

CARSON: It's been dreadful for Her Ladyship. And, of course, for Lady Mary. What a terrible burden has fallen on her now that Her Ladyship has departed for America.

MRS HUGHES: What do you mean?

CARSON: She's in charge of the whole estate and she'll have no one in the family upon whom to rely. Lady Edith is not of much help in such matters and Master George won't be in a position to exercise his inheritance for years.

MRS HUGHES: I don't know that Her Ladyship was such a big help. And why did His Lordship insist on leaving his share to Master George anyway? It would have made more sense for it to go to Lady Mary and then she'd have had clear control.

CARSON: He couldn't have done it, Mrs. Hughes.

MRS HUGHES: Nonsense. The new laws regarding primogeniture have made those ridiculous inheritance regulations a thing of the past.

CARSON: But His Lordship could not imagine leaving his property away from his male heir.

MRS HUGHES: The more fool him, then, mired in the past. Why are we even talking about this? We have our own plans to consider. I'm sorry for their loss, of course. His Lordship was a kind man. He'll be missed. But we need to get on with things. It'll make for a more subdued celebration, but I'm all for that. I never wanted a great fuss anyway.

CARSON: Erm... You're speaking of our wedding, I presume.

MRS HUGHES: Well, what else?

CARSON: Do you really think, Mrs. Hughes, that this the right time to go ahead with it?

MRS HUGHES: Why not? What's it to do with them anyway?

CARSON: It's only that this is a trying time for the family, and especially for...

MRS HUGHES: For Lady Mary.

CARSON: Ye-e-s. I mean, what with the death duties and all, and facing running the estate all on her own, now that His Lordship is dead and Mr. Branson has thoughtlessly done a runner to America.

MRS HUGHES: He's been gone almost nine months. How could he have known? And you never liked him and always wanted him gone, so it's no good blaming him for actually going. But that's not the point, really. What does it matter that the Granthams have to pay death duties? What's that to us?

CARSON: It's only that Lady Mary has lost all of her usual support structures and I feel that perhaps, as someone who has stood by her through the years, I ought not to abandon her _quite_ so immediately.

MRS HUGHES: You're getting married, Mr. Carson. You're not moving to Australia.

CARSON: Nevertheless, I will hardly be able to give the best of myself to Lady Mary if ...

MRS HUGHES: If you're distracted by me.

CARSON: I wouldn't put it that way.

MRS HUGHES: Didn't you just do so? I can't believe I'm hearing this correctly. Are you telling me, Mr. Carson, that you want to delay our marriage, a marriage already delayed for years by the system in which the Granthams have long held us in thrall, so that you can hold Lady Mary's hand? I've never known anyone less in need of solace and less deserving of it in my life.

CARSON: Now, Mrs. Hughes, you know we don't agree on this...

MRS HUGHES: No, we don't. And we don't agree on this course of action either. Say it again, Mr. Carson. I want you to say that you want to put off our marriage so that you can hold Lady Mary's cold hand.

CARSON: Is this not something we can discuss, perhaps in a more discreet venue, at a later moment?

MRS HUGHES: I'm not sure there's anything left to discuss, Mr. Carson.


	7. Chapter 7: Anna and Bates

1 **ANNA AND BATES**

 **6\. INT.** _ **The servants' hall at Downton Abbey.**_

 _Anna and Bates are at the table, chatting. Carson comes in._

CARSON: Mr. and Mrs. Bates, I'm sorry to be the one to convey this news to you, but I've just had a phonecall from Sergeant Willis.

ANNA: Sergeant Willis? What's he want?

CARSON: He told me that Inspector Viner is on his way from London with important new information. _He hesitates_.

BATES: What is it, Mr. Carson? Was there more to it than that?

CARSON: Ye-e-es, Mr. Bates. As a matter of fact, and I'm only telling you this because I am convinced of your innocence, Sergeant Willis said that Mr. Viner intends to arrest _you_.

ANNA: But why? Haven't we gone all through that? Mr. Bates was in York that day. He has an ironclad witness in Mr. Salter. Why won't they leave us alone?

 _Carson, apparently more than willing to leave the Bateses alone, leaves._

ANNA: He's looking awfully downcast. I wonder what's wrong.

BATES: ( _getting up_ ) I think I'd like to go back to the cottage for a while.

ANNA: What is it? What is it, Mr. Bates? They can't possibly think you're responsible. You've told them over and over again. Your presence in York has been proven. You...

BATES: ( _with a sigh_ ) I'm afraid Mr. Viner's new information may prove critical. If that is the case, and it seems to be as he has apparently committed himself to my arrest, then I'm not going to wait for him to arrive.

ANNA: If you're going anywhere, then I'm going with you!

BATES: I don't think that will work very well. And it wouldn't be right. Not for you. Or me.

ANNA: I don't understand.

BATES: ( _with another sigh_ ) That doesn't surprise me, coming from you. You've always been unwilling to face hard truths about those you love.

ANNA: What do you mean? What hard truth is there to face?

BATES: Did you really think I would stand by and let a man who could do such a thing to you get away with it?

ANNA: Well, no, I didn't. That's why I was so afraid for so long that you might have done it. That's why I kept the story from you in the first place.

BATES: Well, you know me even better than you think you do.

ANNA: What are you saying, Mr. Bates? Are you saying that you killed Mr. Green? But that's impossible. You were in York that day. It's been proven. You have an eyewitness.

BATES: I suspect that Mr. Viner has investigated Mr. Salter.

ANNA: So what? What could there possibly be in the background of an innkeeper in York that would compromise his evidence about you?

BATES: The fact that not only did we serve in the South African War, but that we served together. In the same regiment. In the same company, to be exact. We've been friends for decades.

ANNA: But...then why didn't Lord Grantham recognize the name? Why didn't he think to question the testimony?

BATES: Lord Grantham didn't focus on any of the enlisted men in our regiment. He only knew me because I dressed him. As for the others, they were all alike to him. He wouldn't have remembered a name from there any more than he can remember the name of the kitchen maids.

ANNA: What are you saying, Mr. Bates? Are you saying that you did kill Mr. Green?

BATES: Well, what do you think?

ANNA: And you concocted that story with Mr. Salter?

BATES: Of course I did. I needed a solid cover to prove that I'd been somewhere other than where I'd been. But Salter told Molesley too much. He shouldn't have mentioned our casual chat about the South African War. That gave Viner something to verify and, of course, he found the connection. Salter never was very good at following the script.

ANNA: Mr. Bates, I'm not understanding you here.

BATES: Oh, I think you are.

ANNA: But...you said. You told me that you _wanted_ to kill Mr. Green, but that you didn't do it because you knew you'd hang and you couldn't do that to me.

BATES: Anna, my darling, don't you see that it had to be done? A man can't let his wife be wronged in that manner without exacting vengeance. It isn't right. And a jury might even have understood that if I wasn't already a convicted murderer.

ANNA: Well, a convicted murderer, perhaps, but not a murderer. You were innocent of killing Vera.

BATES: That _was_ a much closer call. I honestly thought this time I'd get away with it cleanly.

ANNA: Wait a minute. Are you saying, now, Mr. Bates, that you _did_ kill Vera?

BATES: Vera wasn't a kind and loving person, Anna. And she wasn't the brightest button in the box either. But her attachment to life was every bit as determined as that of you or me. You don't kill yourself for revenge. What's the point of revenge if you're not around to witness it? And plans backfire all the time. You can't be sure of something unless you're supervising it directly.

ANNA: I can't believe I'm hearing this. Are you telling me, Mr. Bates, that you killed Vera? But...that's impossible. Mrs. Bartlett's evidence was quite clear. Vera was making the pie that killed her when Mrs. Bartlett walked in on her. You were already on the train to Downton. And...and the poison was in the pastry where you said you couldn't have put it. How can all that evidence be wrong?

BATES: It isn't. Mrs. Bartlett _did_ see Vera making the pie that killed her. And the poison was not found in any of the other ingredients, that's true. But Vera was intending to make herself a nice pie for dinner that evening. When I arrived early in the day, she had already set out all the ingredients and even measured the flour out. It was sitting in a cup by the kneading board. All I had to do was fetch a measure of arsenic from the bag in the cellar and add it to flour already sitting there. Then I _was_ long gone when she made the pie. It was that simple.

ANNA: ( _horrified_ ) But...but you denied doing it!

BATES: I never denied killing Vera. I maintained my usual stoic demeanour. I _did_ say that the poison was in the _pastry_ where I couldn't have put it. I never said I didn't put it in the _flour_.

ANNA: ( _furiously now_ ) Mr. Bates, that is merely splitting hairs. You _killed_ Vera.

BATES: Well, she deserved it, didn't she? She was obstructing our happiness, Anna, and we couldn't have that, could we. You were happy to see the back of her, too.

ANNA: But not by _murder_! Mr. Bates, you knew I was prepared to run away with you, to live with you in sin, _anything_ to spend my life with you. Why would you have done such a horrible thing?

BATES: Like you, I was prepared to do _anything_ to rid our lives of that albatross. Why should we leave our jobs, sacrifice our livelihood, as well as all of our money and property, and our reputations to boot, for such a miserable woman. It would have been different if she'd been at all reasonable, if she'd just gone away, but she wouldn't. It was easier all around, Anna, and it was better for all of us, including Vera. She really wasn't enjoying her life.

ANNA: So you murdered Vera _and_ Mr. Green.

BATES: I prefer to think of it as putting down two miserable creatures who are better off, as are we all, where they are now.

ANNA: Was ...is that all? Is there anyone else?

BATES: Yes, that is all, although I have to admit, I've been sorely taxed bytimes to send Thomas after them. But the opportunity never presented itself. Now, I think you'll agree that if I'm to save my neck, I've got to get out of here fast.

( _Bates leaves. Anna hurries after him._ )

 **THOMAS**

 **7\. INT.** _ **The corridor outside the Servants' hall.**_

 _Thomas is eavesdropping._

THOMAS: Well, Mr. Bates. I was only storing up this information to employ to my amusement at some later date. But now you've made me angry.


	8. Chapter 8: Violet and Prince Kuragin

1 **VIOLET AND PRINCE KURAGIN**

 **8\. INT.** _ **The sitting room in the Dower House.**_

 _The Dowager Lady Grantham and Prince Igor Kuragin are having tea._

VIOLET: I'm surprised to see you again, Igor. I would have thought you well embarked on your new life in France.

KURAGIN: Are you really surprised?

VIOLET: I don't know what you mean.

KURAGIN: I have returned to claim the affections of the only woman I have ever truly loved.

VIOLET: But, Igor, we've already been through all this. There is no future for a relationship in the middle of another relationship.

KURAGIN: That is why I am here.

VIOLET: But what about the Princess?

KURAGIN: She's dead.

VIOLET: What do you mean, she's dead?

KURAGIN: It's a perfectly simple statement of fact.

VIOLET: But she was as stout as a field hand or a mule the last time I set eyes on her.

KURAGIN. Yes, but Paris was hard on her. She deteriorated quite dramatically there.

VIOLET: I don't think that's possible. No one wilts in Paris.

KURAGIN: She did.

VIOLET: I don't believe it.

KURAGIN: She had an accident.

VIOLET: What kind of accident?

KURAGIN: She stepped off the kerb into an oncoming vehicle. She was accustomed to looking right, then left, as was the practice in British-held Hong Kong, instead of left and then right, as is the convention on the Continent.

VIOLET: I'm finding this conversation very confusing. Did she fade away or was she knocked down in the street?

KURAGIN: What is there to confuse? I love you. You love me. Circumstances have unfolded in a way that have made it possible for us to be together, as we were meant to be.

VIOLET: This is all highly irregular.

KURAGIN: ( _looking around the parlour_ ) So how many rooms does this house have?


	9. Chapter 9: Isobel and Lord Merton

**ISOBEL AND LORD MERTON**

 **9\. INT.** _ **Crawley House, the sitting room.**_

 _Isobel and Lord Merton are standing together by the fireplace._

LORD MERTON: I'm not sure you realize quite what you're giving up, Isobel.

ISOBEL: What do you mean?

LORD MERTON: I'm quite rich, you know. One of the wealthiest landowners in Yorkshire, as it happens. Have the Granthams never mentioned this to you?

ISOBEL: And why is this relevant?

LORD MERTON: I just want you to have a clear idea of what you are rejecting.

ISOBEL: I was never marrying you for your money, Dickie.

LORD MERTON: Then why this rejection?

ISOBEL: Surely you jest. You have the rudest sons on the planet Earth. You don't stand up for me when they insult me. You're faking your interest in medicine. And you have the coldest house in Yorkshire. I can only wonder why I ever allowed myself to be deluded in the first place, except that I didn't realize quite how cold the house was until you had the Dowager and me over for lunch.

LORD MERTON: But I'm rich.

ISOBEL: I hate to be the one to inform you, Dickie, but money can't buy everything. And it certainly can't buy me.


	10. Chapter 10: Carson and Mrs Hughes

1 **CARSON AND MRS HUGHES**

 **10\. INT.** _ **Mrs. Hughes' sitting room.**_

 _Mrs. Hughes is seated at her desk. Carson comes to the door._

CARSON: Did you have a good afternoon off, Mrs. Hughes?

MRS HUGHES: I did.

CARSON: You don't usually leave the estate on such occasions.

MRS HUGHES: That's true.

 _There is a long pause._

MRS HUGHES: If you've got something to say, Mr. Carson, you might as well stop lingering in the doorway and come in and get it off your chest.

 _He comes in, closes the door, and sits down._

CARSON: It's only that Andrew told me that the chauffeur had told him you'd been to Canningford Grange.

MRS HUGHES: Goodness. That's a tale that's made the rounds. I thought you came down harshly on gossip, Mr. Carson.

CARSON: Then it's not true?

MRS HUGHES: I didn't say that.

CARSON: Then it is true?

MRS HUGHES: It is.

CARSON: What would you be doing at Canningford Grange? Not that I have a right to ask.

MRS HUGHES: No more you don't. I was at Canningford Grange to discuss my future.

CARSON: What's that supposed to mean?

MRS HUGHES: It means, Mr. Carson, that I cannot wait all my life for Lady Mary to get back on her feet and for you to feel confident enough in her self-sufficiency to address your own needs. Or mine.

CARSON: What are you saying, Mrs. Hughes?

MRS HUGHES: Only that one way or another, my time at Downton is at an end. I had hoped it would be in retirement with you, and I must say, I cherished that thought. I don't mind Lady Mary in her place, and even in your life, but you've shown me that she'll always come first. It pains me that much, Mr. Carson, but I'll not let Lady Mary or any other Crawley run my life. And I don't think you can say the same.

CARSON: Are you withdrawing your consent to my proposal?

MRS HUGHES: I am.

CARSON: I'm...shocked. Devastated.

MRS HUGHES: Well, so am I, but I think it's for the best. And I can hardly continue to work here under those conditions.

CARSON: But what has that got to do with Canningford Grange?

MRS HUGHES: The Sinderbys' housekeeper has been longing to leave for some time, only agreeing to stay until they'd found a replacement. Lord Sinderby approached me at His Lordship's funeral, but I put him off. It wasn't what I wanted. I've been reconsidering it in light of our conversation the other day and I made up my mind. When I spoke to Lord and Lady Sinderby today they were most enthusiastic. And I'll tell you something, Mr. Carson. Lady Sinderby was not speaking a lie when she told Lady Flintshire that they paid well.

CARSON: Well. I am deeply grieved by this turnabout, Mrs. Hughes. Deeply grieved indeed.

MRS HUGHES: We should have known, Mr. Carson. Your commitment to the family is nothing new. We dreamed a little dream, but it's over now.


	11. Chapter 11: Edith and Mary and Carson

1 **EDITH AND MARY AND CARSON**

 **11\. INT.** _ **The Library.**_

 _Edith is sitting at the desk, busily scribbling. Mary comes in._

MARY: Edith, can't you find someplace else to write your silly column? I have work to do.

EDITH: Ah, Mary. I was just going to have one of the servants go find you for me.

MARY: Well, make it snappy. I've got pressing business to address.

EDITH: I don't think so.

MARY: What would you know of the business of running an estate.

EDITH: Much more than you think.

MARY: I don't appreciate cryptic comments, Edith. Get to the point.

EDITH: I want to savour the moment.

MARY: Well, savour it then. I'll be back for dinner.

EDITH: The business of the estate doesn't concern you any more, Mary.

MARY: I've no time for your games...

EDITH: Downton Abbey is mine. I've bought it.

MARY: It wasn't for sale. Really, Edith, sometimes I wonder for your sanity.

EDITH: Make jokes all you like, Mary, but you are no longer the owner of Downton Abbey. I've bought it up, lock, stock, and barrel.

MARY: You really are a fool, you know. Fortunately I already know that and there's no one else to hear. You can't buy something that isn't for sale. And where would you get the money for such an enterprise, anyway?

EDITH: Oh, you think you're so smart, don't you? Well, I'm a businesswoman, too. Mary. I have my publishing company. And we've been expanding our range of activities, including going in for mass paperbacks. The money is rolling in. But that's all beside the point. While my publishing business has expanded, you've come on hard times with Downton.

MARY: It's called death duties, Edith. And weather issues. You wouldn't understand.

EDITH: I understand well enough what a mortgage is, and also what the term foreclosure means. I've paid up the back taxes, Mary. I've seized Downton out from under you. It will never be yours again.

MARY: Don't be silly. What legal imbecile told you that was possible?

EDITH: Mr. Murray.

MARY: I rest my case. Ha ha. That was a small joke.

EDITH: Very small. But the fact remains, Mary, that Downton is now mine. I was in London finalizing the papers this week and now here they are. ( _She brandishes a handful of official-looking papers_.)

MARY: This is preposterous.

EDITH: See for yourself.

 _As Mary peruses the documents, Edith hugs herself and gloats gleefully._

EDITH: You're finished, Mary. Don't think you can just withdraw to the life of a lady of leisure once more. I won't have it. In fact, I won't even have you here. I'll be reasonable with regard to your eviction, however. How about day after tomorrow? That would suit me!

MARY: But what about George? He is the Sixth Earl of Grantham and Downton Abbey is _his_ estate. Papa wanted it that way.

EDITH: It's not George's anymore! As for Papa, well, he's dead. How long have I waited for this day! And wait! It's not all quite finished yet.

 _She crosses the room and pulls the bell rope. A moment later, Carson comes into the Library_.

CARSON: ( _speaking to Mary_ )You rang, my lady? ( _And then seeing her distress..._ ) My lady! Are you quite all right?

 _Before she can answer, Edith intervenes._

EDITH: No. No, she's not, Carson. But that doesn't matter any more. At least, not in this house. No one here is ever again going to give a fig about Mary's feelings.

CARSON: ( _speaking to Edith_ ) I'm sorry, my lady. What did you say?

EDITH: ( _exultant_ ) This is the second conversation I've been waiting a lifetime for. Carson, you're fired.

 _Carson stands in stunned silence. Mary finds her voice_.

MARY: My sister has executed a _coup d'etat_ , Carson. She has bought Downton out from under me and my son, the Sixth Earl of Grantham and the rightful heir to this estate. She has shamelessly taken advantage of the crisis over the death duties and that loan business. She is turning us out, Carson, George, me, and even you.

CARSON: ( _unbelieving, astonished, turning to Edith_ ) Is this true, my lady?

MARY: Oh, stop paying her the niceties, Carson. She doesn't deserve them. She's been gloating at my downfall and, believe me, she's taking tremendous pleasure at yours as well.

EDITH: I certainly am. Revenge. It's even more satisfying than I've imagined.

CARSON: I must say, this is all rather ill-bred of you. I cannot imagine that your father would approve.

EDITH: What does that matter to me now? You, the two of you, Papa's favourites. That's all over. And that's Lady Edith, to you, Carson, if you wish to remain in the village. Now get out of here. And take your idol with you.


	12. Chapter 12: Isobel and Dr Clarkson

1 **DR CLARKSON AND ISOBEL**

 **.** _ **The drawing room of Crawley House.**_

 _Isobel is seated at the small table near the window. The doctor is standing before the window with his hands clasped behind his back._

ISOBEL: I've never been one to leave important matters unsaid, so I hope you won't mind my frankness now.

CLARKSON: I've always preferred a forthright exchange.

ISOBEL: Well, you may know that I've broken off my engagement to Lord Merton.

CLARKSON: I had heard.

ISOBEL: There were too many obstacles. Ironically, his rude son Larry was right about that. They were not, though, the obstacles he had imagined.

CLARKSON: Indeed?

ISOBEL: No. It wasn't class or status that mattered in the end. It was the fact that he wouldn't stand up for me that rankled. Literally, I mean. When Larry embarked on his tirade on my unfitness, only Tom took him to task for it. Dickie looked shocked, but he let Tom take the lead. Tom's behaviour was gratifying, but not, I may say, unexpected. After all, he'd been on the receiving end of one of Larry's campaigns himself. But when Larry dismissed him as a "grubby little chauffeur," Dickie, along with Robert, and, of course, my dear Matthew, all leaped to their feet in indignation. Alas! Matthew is no longer here to champion me. And so when Larry uttered those unkind words there was only Tom. Dickie did nothing. Robert did nothing. I was humiliated by their inaction. It was then I realized how hollow their affections for me really were. I was less bothered by Robert, obviously. After all, he had not made a declaration of love to me and asked me to marry him. But Dickie. What explained it? I knew from that moment, really, that I could not go through with it.

CLARKSON: That sounds wise.

ISOBEL: Only Violet...I mean, the Dowager Countess responded to my decision to reject Dickie's suit with a curious statement. She said that you would be ... I think she said _delighted_ by the news.

CLARKSON: Did she really.

ISOBEL: Of course I know that no one can speak for you, and I hardly gave credence to her words. She likes to toy with other people's feelings.

CLARKSON: I had noticed.

ISOBEL: But I do remember that conversation we had some years ago at the fair when you inquired about my interest in marriage.

CLARKSON: Mmmmm.

ISOBEL: I think I would not be incorrect in assuming that it was your intention to propose to me then.

CLARKSON: I believe it was.

ISOBEL: Only I don't want to give you any false hope. I demurred then on the grounds that I had no interest in marriage.

CLARKSON: When, in fact, you meant you had no interest in me.

ISOBEL: I'm very sorry.

CLARKSON: So am I.


	13. Chapter 13: Mary and Mr Murray

1 **MARY AND MR MURRAY**

 **13\. INT.** _ **Mr. Murray's office in London.**_

 _Murray is seated behind his great desk. Lady Mary Crawley sits across from him._

MARY: So there's nothing to be done. Edith's captured the lot.

MURRAY: I'm afraid so, Lady Mary.

MARY: Surely it was your responsibility to protect my interest in Downton and the interest of my son, the Sixth Earl. Isn't that your job?

MURRAY: You may recall, my lady, that I _did_ try to do so. When you were facing the death duties and trying to determine how to pay them, we discussed a number of options.

MARY: Yes. We could sell portions of the estate, a solution that Papa, Tom, and I considered and rejected when Matthew, ...when Mr. Crawley, my husband, died. I didn't like the idea then and I didn't like it those few short months ago when you raised it again.

MURRAY: I recall your opposition, my lady.

MARY: Instead, I proposed a mortgage taken out against the expected agricultural yield of the coming year, largely arising from the surplus from the tenants.

MURRAY: Yes. And I told you then how risky a venture that was, especially given the weather this spring and the current state of the market for agricultural produce. I gave you fair warning, my lady.

MARY: But we couldn't lose. Agricultural production has been the backbone of Downton's internal economy for centuries. We've upgraded our machinery. We've rationalized land use. We've diversified our production. In short, we've taken all the necessary steps to modernize and streamline this fundamental economic element. And it's cost us a pretty penny to do so.

MURRAY: Alas! my lady, that is part of the overall problem. Downton was already overextended in financial terms, just in playing catch-up to the post-war realities, and then the second round of death duties within five years, when one might reasonably have expected your father to have lasted for another couple of decades, or at least until the taxes required when Mr. Crawley died had been paid in full. Instead, the situation has emerged that layer upon layer of debt has accumulated, and then, when the crops failed almost across the estate, there was nothing left upon which to fall back. This left your outstanding financial commitments vulnerable, and when the loan was called, there was very little else that could be done short of declaring bankruptcy. If Lady Edith had not stepped in...

MARY: Swooped in, more like it. And where did she get this lump sum of capital with which to steal my son's rightful inheritance and to deprive me of my livelihood as well?

MURRAY: I'm afraid that is privileged information, my lady, and something I can only discuss with her.

MARY: I don't remember you being quite this competent in your duties when it came to getting Bates, or Anna for that matter, out of jail.

MURRAY: Criminal law's not really my thing, my lady, something I told them all time and again. But would they listen? Your father insisted on my representation, in much the same way that he bull-headedly insisted on investing everything in the Canadian Northern Railway and in preferring the word of Sir Philip Tapsill over the sound advice of your local doctor. In this matter, however, I can assure you with no transgression on modesty, that I know exactly what I am doing. Death duties, inheritance, and estate law are my specialties.

MARY: You might have exercised your talents a little more forcefully in my favour then.

MURRAY: I'm very sorry.

MARY: I think you're not at all sorry, Mr. Murray.

MURRAY: Well, truth be told, you're right, my lady. I've always thought you the least deserving of His Lordship's children and the one with the greatest degree of snobbish entitlement. To see you confront your come-uppance is, dare I admit it, rather gratifying.

MARY: That's nothing more than what one might expect from the man who so badly advised my father and my family for so long. You can be assured we shall be severing ties with this firm.

MURRAY: You may be, my lady, but Lady Edith has chosen to continue Downton's affiliation.

MARY: You deserve each other, Mr. Murray. Good day.

MURRAY: Ah, my lady. There is the little matter yet to be resolved of your bill...


	14. Chapter 14: Mary and Tom and Edith

1 **TOM AND MARY AND EDITH**

 **14\. INT.** _ **In the Library.**_

 _Tom, Mary, and Edith are all standing before the fireplace_.

EDITH: I've waited so long for this. I can't believe my day has finally arrived.

MARY: ( _impatient sound_ ) You said exactly the same thing last week, Edith. Really, you might try to inject a little more originality into your script. Spew your latest inanity so that Tom and I can get down to more important matters.

EDITH: Oh, Mary, always so superior. Well, here's a bit of information for you. Tom and I are getting married.

MARY: What?!

EDITH: We settled it all by correspondence. Yes, even as you were penning your tales of woe and longing to Tom, he and I were exchanging rather more passionate missives. If only you'd heard her, Tom, going on about her letters to you, how you were consolidating the bonds you had forged while saving Downton for the family. Alas! It's not to be, Mary. He's here to marry me, not, as you had hoped, to help bail you out of the latest crisis. Indeed, it's much too late for...

MARY: ( _interrupting her_ ) Tom, what does she mean by this?

EDITH: Really, Mary, I'm beginning to think you've suffered brain damage or something. You seem to require explanations for everything. I would have thought that information perfectly clear.

TOM: ( _to Edith_ ) You didn't tell her. I thought you said you were going to tell her.

EDITH: I did say that, but then I realized how much more fun it would be for Mary to hear the news from us together.

MARY: Always the liar, Edith. You can't be serious, Tom. You're marrying _her_?

EDITH: What's so startling about that?

MARY: Oh, hush up, Edith.

EDITH: I'm afraid the days of telling me to hush up and get out of your way are gone now, Mary, so if you...

MARY: ( _interrupting again_ ) Is this really true, Tom?

TOM: It is. And to think I was convinced that there would never be a second Earl's daughter who would be willing to marry me, and then it turns out that there was.

EDITH: ( _in a catty manner_ ) As a matter of fact, Tom, I'm quite sure that there might even have been a _third_ Earl's daughter who would have fallen into your arms, had she only been asked.

MARY: Oh, shut up, Edith. Tom, even in this moment I have too much respect for you to believe that you've fallen in love with this silly witch. What has she promised you?

TOM: I don't know what you mean.

EDITH: Is it so difficult for you, Mary, to imagine that a man could possibly find me more attractive than you?

 _Mary rolls her eyes dramatically and storms out_.


	15. Chapter 15: Mrs Hughes and Edith

**MRS HUGHES AND EDITH**

 **15\. INT.** _ **In the Library.**_

 _Edith is seated at the desk. Mrs. Hughes is standing beside the desk facing her._

EDITH: I understand that your understanding with Carson has been dissolved, Mrs. Hughes. I'm glad to hear it, as that won't impair your continued employment here.

MRS HUGHES: Oh, but I'm afraid it will.

EDITH: ( _bristling slightly at the lack of 'My Lady'_.) I don't see how it can. I won't hold it against you that you harboured some affections for Mr. Carson. Indeed, I can sympathize to some extent. It's always difficult to deal with the hypnotic pull of my sister Mary on men. What she holds over them, I do not know. But so long as ...

MRS HUGHES: I've no intention of continuing to work at Downton Abbey and, if I may say so, I wouldn't work for you if my life depended upon it, which I'm happy to say it does not. I've received a very generous offer from another house and will take this opportunity to tender my resignation. I'll work out the month and then that's it.

EDITH: I don't understand. You've been so well treated here.

MRS HUGHES: His Lordship and Her Ladyship were always polite and, bytimes, kind. And Lady Sybil was, admittedly, a gem. But as for you and the precious Lady Mary...the same cannot be said. At least her arrogance is born of aristocratic entitlement. You're just rude and thoughtless. And you couldn't pay me enough to put up with that any longer. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've some sums to balance.

 _Mrs. Hughes leaves. Edith looks after her, much affronted._

EDITH: Well! This is what comes of paying the servants so well and of treating them with respect. We'll have no more of that around here.


	16. Chapter 16: Mary and Tom

1 **MARY AND TOM**

 **16\. INT:** _ **On the gallery.**_

 _Mary and Tom stand together overlooking the great hall._

MARY: Tom, there's no point in being disingenuous. Tell me why you're really doing this.

TOM: You're mistaken, Mary, if you think...

MARY: Tom, don't be stupid. Edith's still in the library, cackling over her victory and counting her fortune. You needn't continue to play your part. And it's not as if the truth will come back on you. Edith wouldn't believe anything I said. I know this isn't love, it's just a good deal. So what are the terms?

TOM: Full control of the publishing company.

MARY: And why would you want that?

TOM: Because living in America, in Boston, for only a few months has reinvigorated my Irish nationalism, Mary. And I've accepted the principle that the pen is mightier than the sword, especially when it can be wielded in the heart of the nation by which my own dear nation has been enslaved. I'll be able to play a much bigger role in the fight for Irish freedom, especially in the destruction of the Union and the return of the Northern counties to Irish control, from London. I've been called back by patriotism, Mary, by the love for my country.

MARY: And that's it?

TOM: Well, she's nice to Sybbie, too, Mary.

MARY: And that's enough for you? It's compensation enough for having to put up with Edith every day and every night? Goodness! What an awful thought.

TOM: Well, not every night. I plan spend a lot of time in London. How will you get on?

MARY: I don't know. Yet. Losing an estate will probably sink me as far as any of the eligible men I know are concerned. Although there's always Evelyn Napier...


	17. Chapter 17: Daisy and Edith

1 **DAISY AND EDITH**

 **17\. INT.** _ **The Library.**_

 _Edith hasn't left the library yet. Now it is Daisy who comes in to see her. Daisy is no longer the obsequious servant who fears running into the family above ground. She is puzzled by her summons, but no longer daunted by her surroundings._

DAISY: You sent for me, my lady.

EDITH: Yes, Daisy. I have a few things to discuss with you.

DAISY: Is it true you've given Mr. Carson his notice, my lady?

EDITH: Yes. But that doesn't concern you. I understand, Daisy, that you have been studying with an eye to taking your matriculation exams.

DAISY: Yes. No. I mean, yes, I've been studying, my lady. But I've also passed my exams.

EDITH: Congratulations. That's quite an accomplishment for someone like you. I also understand that the motive behind this sudden determination to secure an education was to prepare you in some way to take over Mr. Mason's farm when he...well, when he is no longer able to keep it up.

DAISY: Yes, my lady.

EDITH: How, exactly, was that supposed to work? You are not Mr. Mason's son.

DAISY: No, but I was married to his son and so I'm his daughter-in-law and his legal heir.

EDITH: That may be so, but that connection has little legal significance. Mr. Mason may _hope_ to leave you his farm, but permission actually to do so must come from the family. Or, to be more specific, me.

DAISY: Then it's true, what they've been saying downstairs. You've taken over Downton Abbey, my lady.

EDITH: I have indeed. And I don't like the way things have been managed. As for you, Daisy, surely you can appreciate that we cannot hand off valuable pieces of real estate on the whim of some grief-stricken farmer. It is my job to ensure that the estate is run properly and I cannot see how putting a working farm into the hands of a kitchen maid will do that.

DAISY: But I'm not a kitchen maid anymore, my lady. I'm an assistant cook. And I've been studying just so that I could learn to be a sound manager of the farm.

EDITH: Well, it was a pipe dream, Daisy. I can't in good conscience let you go on thinking that that arrangement will ever come to pass.

DAISY: His Lordship gave us his permission, my lady. Surely that means something.

EDITH: His Lordship is dead, Daisy. I'm in charge now. And I can't approve it. But you needn't be too downcast. I've decided to retire Mrs. Patmore and to promote you to the position of cook. You'll find that much more satisfying than struggling in the muck and misery of farm life. And you'll be able to pursue the calling with which you are most familiar. And I'm glad you've finished your studies. That will mean you won't have any distractions in the kitchen. That will be all.

 _But Daisy doesn't leave_.

EDITH: Was there something else?

DAISY: Yes. I can appreciate that having been born into the aristocracy you think you have the right to order us all about and the existing power structures have only worked to reinforce that conviction. You think you can treat us all like pieces on a chessboard, moved or discarded at your will. Mr. Carson has been a faithful servant of this family all of his life and you contemptuously dismiss him. I suppose you've going to have Mrs. Patmore in here in a moment to give her the sack, too. Who knows how many other martyrs to the cause of your arrogance there will be here in the coming days?

But you need to know something: times aren't about to change. They _have_ changed. Your day is dead and gone and the day of the worker and the merchant are at hand. You think you can just toss us aside, but the moment has arrived when _you_ will be swept away and I'll be glad to be standing on the sidelines watching it happen.

EDITH: Well, that was a pretty speech. I can see you've learned something from your books. But you see, Daisy, that's exactly why higher education - by which I mean anything beyond rudimentary reading, writing, and mathematics - is an enemy of the poor. You've clearly imbibed ideas that have no relevance to your life and they are only causing you to aspire to things above your station. Now be content with your lot and go start dinner. I've noticed a distinct absence of respect in your address of me in this conversation. I'll overlook it this once, as you appear to be agitated, but from now on you will address me consistently as Lady Edith.

DAISY: I don't think so. If it's all the same to you, I'll be handing in my notice. And that's Mrs. Mason, to you.


	18. Chapter 18: Carson and Mary

1 **CARSON AND MARY**

 **18\. INT.** _ **The house on Brancker Road.**_

 _Mary is sitting at a table in the kitchen of Carson's house. Little George is playing outside in the garden. Carson is hovering uncomfortably by the table._

MARY: Well, that will teach me, I suppose, for underestimating Edith. But how could I possibly have known? She's been such a loser for thirty years. No doubt it's taken her this long to plan something properly. I'd say Well, done, her, if I could stand it.

CARSON: Erm, would you like some tea, my lady?

MARY: I wouldn't mind something rather stronger at the moment, Carson. Is there any whisky about?

CARSON: As a matter of fact...

 _He fetches a bottle from a nearby cupboard. He first takes only one glass out, and then, after hesitating, grabs a second one. He puts bottle and glasses down on the table, pours a generous shot for Lady Mary, and then places it in front of her._ _Mary takes the glass automatically, her eyes on George out the window, and then she notices Carson still standing there._

MARY: For goodness sake, Carson. Sit down. This is your house.

 _He sits. And after another moment's hesitation, he pours himself a whisky as well_.

MARY: I appreciate your taking me in, Carson. I expect it's as much a surprise to you as it is to me that I should be your first paying guest.

CARSON: I wouldn't hear of it, my lady. You and Master George are welcome here as long as you like. I mean it.

 _Mary smiles at him. It is one of those smiles that always melts his heart_.

MARY: You're very good to me, Carson. And I can't deny it will take a little bit of time for me to sort things out. But in the meantime, I can hardly impose on your good will. You _are_ running a business here, and if there was one thing I learned from Mr. Crawley, it was that I should appreciate what things cost. ( _sniffing_ )It was a lesson I learned from Mr. Branson, too. Perhaps I should have been paying closer attention there.

CARSON: You won't be disrupting the operation here, my lady. Our ... my plans for a bed and breakfast have been ... suspended for the moment.

MARY: I should think them more important than ever given Edith's peremptory dismissal of you. She'll regret that, you know. She's never really understood and appreciated exactly what you do at Downton Abbey. I expect she's missing you already.

CARSON: She's got Mr. Barrow. I think he'll suit her.

 _This is as close as Carson can come to a direct criticism of one of the family._

MARY: Yes, may she enjoy the intrigues.

CARSON: It's not the business question, my lady. It's just that ... the bed and breakfast was supposed to be a joint venture, between me and Mrs. ... Hughes.

MARY: Hmm. Well, I don't know what Edith's plans for her are. As Mrs. Hughes has no overt ties to me, Edith may see fit to keep her on. But her connection to you may be the end of her.

CARSON: Mrs. Hughes has already handed in her notice, my lady.

 _Mary notices something about his tone_.

MARY: Carson? What is it? Are you troubled by the uncertainty of a future beyond Downton?

CARSON: Of course, I am, my lady. But that's not the whole of it. You see, Mrs. Hughes has not only left Downton. She has also left me.

 _He struggles to contain his emotions at this admission. Mary puts down her whisky and leans across the table to him._

MARY: What are you saying?

CARSON: Mrs. Hughes was...unhappy with my wish to delay our wedding because of His Lordship's death and the other complications arising from it. I felt it was not the right time for us to focus on our concerns and that we should address in the moment the family's needs. She...felt differently.

MARY: She never did like me very much. I'm sorry to have come between you.

 _They sit in silence for a moment. Then Mary places a hand over his briefly._

MARY: Oh, Carson. I'm so sorry. I appreciate your kindness and sacrifice. Really I do. I wish Mrs. Hughes had had more patience. You don't deserve that from her.

CARSON: Well, it's done.

 _He has no interest in saying ill things about Mrs. Hughes_.

MARY: But where will she go?

CARSON: As it happens, Lord Sinderby made her quite a generous offer, after His Lordship's funeral.

MARY: Goodness. He doesn't let propriety get in his way, does he?

CARSON: Not in the least, my lady. Naturally at any other time she would have dismissed this as poaching, on the one hand, and irrelevant, on the other, had our plans gone ahead. But with His Lordship dead, God rest his soul, and Her Ladyship gone off to America, Mrs. Hughes felt her only loyalty was to me. After months of delay, her patience eroded. She believes I have betrayed her with my continued devotion to...the family's needs. Lord Sinderby's offer was _very_ generous. She will live well there and with a larger salary will be able to...take care of other responsibilities with ease. It's a good chance for her.

MARY: Well, only if another job can make up for the loss of you, which it can't! I can't imagine what she was thinking!

 _Carson shrugs. Although he appreciates Lady Mary's words, he is still broken up about Mrs. Hughes_.

CARSON: What it means, however, is that the house is at my disposal, my lady, and through me, at yours.

MARY: Thank you, Carson. I appreciate it. I do.

 _They sit in silence for another minute_.

MARY: I suppose George and I can share a room. I'd say Nanny's a thing of the past. But before we give the future any more thought, we should probably eat. Thanks to Edith's peremptory eviction, George and I were out before tea.

CARSON: That leaves us in a bit of a situation, my lady, as there is as yet no food in the house. Now, I can run down to the village and pick up some groceries. Be back in no time.

 _He gets up and then pauses_.

MARY: What is it, Carson?

CARSON: Do you have any suggestions, my lady, about what to get?

MARY: It depends on what you can make. There's no sense in getting food that is beyond your culinary ability.

CARSON: That's the point, my lady. I ... have no culinary abilities.

MARY: What?

CARSON: I've never cooked a meal in my life. I moved from my mother's kitchen to Downton Abbey's. About all I can do it make tea. Put the kettle on, that sort of thing.

MARY: What did you do when you were in the theatre?

 _Carson is surprised and uneasy that Mary knows about this_.

CARSON: We ate mostly in pubs and shops. If there was an occasion to cook something, I was never responsible for it.

MARY: I see. Fair enough. Well, I can make scrambled eggs. That's my lot. But if Mrs. Patmore can do it, or Daisy, come to think of it, then it can't be _that_ difficult. We'll manage. Now, have you got a pencil and paper so that we can make a list?


	19. Chapter 19: Bates, Anna, and Mr Viner

1 **BATES, ANNA, AND MR VINER**

 **19.** _ **EXT. At the door of the Bates's cottage.**_

 _The door to the cottage opens and Mr. Bates and Anna emerge. He is dressed for travelling, in his long coat and hat, with a case in his hand. Anna, struggling into a coat and clearly not prepared for a journey, is clinging feebly to his arm. As they step outside, they walk right into the arms of Mr. Viner, who moves into the camera view as the Bateses step clear of the cottage._

MR VINER: Ah. Mr. Bates. I'm glad you're packed and ready. If you'll step this way, please.

 _As he sweeps his arm to the left, two uniformed police officers step into view. One of them is holding handcuffs, the other is brandishing his nightstick. They are clearly prepared for Bates to put up a fight._

ANNA: This is madness! This is crazy!

MR VINER: The only madness here, Mrs. Bates, is in your husband's mind. Mr. Bates, you are under arrest for the murder of Mr. Green. You have the right to remain silent. If you choose to ignore that right, then anything you say will be taken down and may be used against you in a court of law. Do you understand?

BATES: I could recite that back to you. Of course, I understand, you fool.

ANNA: Mr. Bates, I don't think this is the time to be rude.

MR VINER: It's not going to matter much, Mrs. Bates, whether your husband is rude or polite. He's on his way to the gallows this time, make no mistake about it.

ANNA: You don't know. You couldn't know anything.

MR VINER: Alas, Mrs. Bates, I know everything. By the way, Mr. Bates, we'll be exhuming the body of your first wife, as well. There is a little matter of the arsenic in the cup of flour to contend with.

BATES: What bollocks.

MR VINER: We have a witness who can testify to your confession, Mr. Bates. We have you dead to rights this time.

 _Bates rounds on Anna with shock. He is too smart to say anything, but she gets the message_.

ANNA: I didn't! How could I have? I've been with you the whole time. _(She turns to the police_.) Who've you been talking to? Who?

MR VINER: That's none of your business, Mrs. Bates. But I will say one thing. Our witness exonerates you completely. The testimony we have heard validates your complete ignorance of Mr. Bates' activity. We will bother you no more. _(He turns to Bates and the police officers._ )

Now, come along.

 _Anna trails along behind them, sobbing._


	20. Chapter 20: Molesley and Baxter

1 **MOLESLEY AND BAXTER**

 **20\. INT.** _ **Corridor at the foot of the stairs.**_

 _Molesley and Baxter are standing together at the foot of the stairs._

MOLESLEY: Have you heard? Mr. Viner has apparently caught up with Mr. Bates. I'm afraid there'll be no escaping to Ireland for Mr. Bates this time.

BAXTER: What a sad turn of events.

MOLESLEY: Shocking to think Mr. Bates cooked up that story with Mr. Salter.

BAXTER: It's a shame we wasted so much time hunting Mr. Salter down.

MOLESLEY: Yes. That was very inconsiderate of Mr. Bates. Although, I suppose, we were patsies playing right into his hand.

BAXTER: How horrible it is for Mrs. Bates. She was hoodwinked far more seriously than the rest of us.

MOLESLEY: Oh, very sad indeed. I feel very sorry for her.

BAXTER: Very sorry.

MOLESLEY: But, you know, this is what comes of downstairs marriages. They are fraught with peril and often end badly. Admittedly, not quite _this_ badly, but still.

BAXTER: Yes. And then there's Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes. You would have thought them immune to those very perils.

MOLESLEY: I think I have to disagree with you there, Miss Baxter. In fact, I think the opposite is true. The higher ranking the servant, the greater the potential for disaster. A butler is wedded to the house he serves. Mr. Carson should never have stepped outside his role. And the same goes for a housekeeper. That's why they're called Mrs., you know. They're already taken.

BAXTER: I thought it might have worked for them.

MOLESLEY: In the end, though, they just couldn't let go of their first loyalties. And I say, it was well that they remembered their places.

BAXTER: I agree with you, Mr. Molesley. Servants should know their places and not challenge the _status quo_. Downstairs marriages are much to be frowned upon.

MOLESLEY: I couldn't have said it better myself, Miss Baxter.

 _They part, going their separate ways in different directions._

MOLESLEY: ( _calling after her_ ) Miss Baxter? I was just wondering. Why are you here anyway? Why didn't you go to America with Her Ladyship?

BAXTER: I don't know.


	21. Chapter 21: Mrs Patmore

**MRS PATMORE**

 **21\. INT.** _ **The kitchen.**_

 _Mrs. Patmore is looking around the empty kitchen._

MRS PATMORE: Well, I'm bloody well not staying here if all the good people are going. I've got me own house, I do. I can be my own boss. I'd rather be cooking for lodgers than doing up fancy dinners for that silly chit.


	22. Chapter 22: Thomas

**THOMAS**

 **22\. EXT.** _ **The folly.**_

 _Thomas is lying on a blanket, his face turned to the camera. Beside him lies another man, whose face we cannot see. Thomas is wearing his livery, but is in his shirtsleeves which are rolled up. His collar is open. The man beside him is also in shirtsleeves, but his clothing is not of one in service. Before them is a bottle of wine of a very fine vintage and two crystal glasses._

THOMAS: Ah, the sweet taste of justice. Lady Mary Crawley banished from her own inheritance. It's a fit judgment for her. Playing the lady and her the mistress of indiscretion, twice that I know of for certain, and who knows how many other times unobserved. It'll be nice not having to kow-tow to _her_ ever again. If I meet her on the street, I can walk right by without a glance, certainly without a nod. If only all of those stiff upper crust types could share her pain. Don't they all deserve it. They've had too much for too long, and all at the expense of us working class stiffs. I'd like to see them all go the way of the dodo, and quietly, too, without a bloody revolution. Things get broken in a revolution. Why should we have to destroy all the good things just to get rid of the lazy stuck-up bastards?

As for Mr. Bates, am I surprised? Not at all. I knew he had a violent streak in him. Didn't he slam me up against a wall after I stole Daisy out from under William's nose? Didn't he threaten to ... what was it?... _punch my shining teeth into the back of my throat_? Oh, yes, I've been quite aware of his violent tendencies for a long time. He'll swing for certain, this time. I only wish I could be there.

Old Mr. Carson should have retired anyway. He was past his prime. The butler's job needs a man in the full vigour of life, not some played out old gent. I wish I'd seen the look on his face when Lady Edith gave him the news, though. That would have been priceless. Priceless, but maybe not matchless. I would have given anything to see his reaction to being dumped by Mrs. Hughes, too. Clearly she had second thoughts about being stuck with some over-the-hill dullard. Good on her. Not that I'm sorry to see her go, either. She kept too close an eye on me, knew too much of what I was about. She could be nice enough, bytimes, it's true. But I'm glad to see her off to the Sinderbys. Who knows? Maybe Mr. Stowell will prove more charming than Mr. Carson. Goodbye to her.

And Lady Edith in charge of Downton. She's not without brains, her, but she hasn't got the balls to keep the estate going. Lady Mary stumbled. But Lady Edith doesn't even know where to start, and if she thinks the chauffeur is going to be any help, she's got another think coming. And it's not all about Irish nationalism for him, either, although he talks a good game. Doesn't he half know that the schoolteacher's got a place up near London? What would a man want with the petulant Lady Edith Crawley when he could have the firebrand?

To tell the truth, the only one I'm really going to miss is Mrs. Patmore. She was a cranky red-faced old woman, all right, but she could made an amazing treacle tart.

HENRY TALBOT: ( _turning so that his face is in view_ ) For God's sake, Thomas. What do I care about all these people? Can't you just shut up for a few minutes and kiss me?


	23. Chapter 23: Christmas Special

1 **CHRISTMAS SPECIAL**

 **23\. INT.** _ **The kitchen of the house on Brancker Road.**_

 _Carson, Mary, and George are polishing off their tea_.

MARY: Well, Carson, what do you think?

CARSON: You're quite a hand at scrambled eggs, My Lady. I'd never have guessed it.

MARY: I expect there are a few things about me that you haven't guessed, Carson. But as one who knows me better than anyone else alive, at this point anyway, you can be assured that one thing is certain: I'm never down for long.

CARSON: My Lady, does this mean...?

MARY: Yes, Carson. I've got a plan. I only needed a stiff drink and my tea to get the wheels rolling again. We can get it all back - Downton, Tom, even Mrs. Hughes for you. And Isobel for Dr. Clarkson, in the bargain.

CARSON: I beg your pardon, My Lady?

MARY: Apparently Dr. Clarkson is all ga-ga over Isobel. So Granny informs me. But she won't have him. He is a middle-class doctor, after all. But then she's middle class, too. A much better match, in any case, than Lord Merton. At least Dr. Clarkson hasn't got rude children. Or a cold house.

CARSON: And your plan, My Lady?

MARY: I've never seen Edith execute anything successfully, Carson. This latest campaign is no exception. We ought to be able to overturn it in a trice. What do you think?

CARSON: Do you think we might fire Thomas for good this time, My Lady?

MARY: You have my word on it. Are you game?

CARSON: My Lady, do you really need to ask?


	24. Epilogue

_**Epilogue**_

And there it was, the last word. It was exhilarating. It always was.

He reviewed his work carefully. How unfortunate that he had killed the dog off in the previous season. That incident would have fit in much better here. He re-read the _Christmas Special_ twice. Was it a bit much? Wasn't he just teasing them with hope once more? Then he relaxed. The _Christmas Special_ was a professional necessity.

After all, a good dramatist always laid the groundwork for a potential sequel.


End file.
